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Devil’s Dyke Network features work by poets, artists, musicians and performers. Explore our archive of work by reading featured poems, or searching by artist.
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Maybe we’re doing everything wrong in this fake town
A fake town and its fake people swaying together pretending we
Don’t hear the cold winds of youth blowing hard tonight
Shattering the congruity of the streets
Maybe it’s just me, but if I hear the words
“That’s so Brighton” I might throw up again.
(I see us!
I see us going nowhere sometimes.
I see me
its all about that queer intersectional
dissociation, now NOW)
Look over there small crowds of talents
Huddled together in designated smoking areas
We’re all catchphrasing and quoting and referencing I can’t stop
I’m doing it right now!
Oh you all are killing me tonight and every other night I can tell
You won’t kiss me until I tell you what you want to hear
It drives up the hate for these bastards buildings encroaching us
Taking over my self.
I am trying to keep up with you as best as I can
From the sharing of omissions to my appalling self care rituals
The circus of vulnerability is always spinning and cannot be escaped
Prancing around this town tonight is hard to avoid the puddles of hurt
The cannon-woman must have flown right through the striped fabric of this tent
Cause we hurt
We hurt all over and we hurt each other
And there’s a hole in the heart of this circus town and I think it’s us.